by Jane Blythe
Annabelle concentrated really hard, trying to make the fuzzy edges smooth into something recognizable. “Tall, muscled, blue eyes.” She became frustrated, “But I can’t see his face properly, it’s all hazy.”
“That’s okay,” Xavier assured her, “you’re doing great. Does he say anything?”
Closing her eyes once more to help herself focus. “Yes, he says…he says…” trying to force the words to become clear enough to hear. “He says ‘Annabelle, I’ve been waiting a long time for this.’”
* * * * *
10:11 A.M.
He wasn’t pleased Annabelle had come back here with that Detective Montague. The man was nosy, a busybody, an interferer, a snoop, a prier, meddlesome, and he couldn’t afford to have someone like that hanging around until everything was complete. He was getting there; he’d already done three of the families on his list, and now he was almost done. But almost wasn’t completely, and since he’d come this far, he couldn’t let his plan be derailed.
As he watched them through his binoculars, he could just make out their figures in Annabelle’s bedroom, and he remembered being in there with her that night. She had looked so beautiful lying there, and he was so glad he had decided to go with the drugs for the Englewoods. He had wanted Annabelle from the moment he’d met her. That thick chocolate brown hair, those white eyes, her sweet nature—his desire for her was overwhelming and he’d been pleased that he had gone with the newer version of the plan.
Originally, he had been going for the complete annihilation of each of the families on his list. But the more he’d thought about it, the more he realized that it wouldn’t be enough to satisfy himself. He needed them to suffer. And so he’d decided leaving one alone would work so much better. He had to admit that Annabelle had played a large part in that decision. The framing thing he’d just added in at the last minute to amuse himself.
That night with Annabelle had been incredible, even if she had been barely conscious at the time. It was a night he would never, ever forget. He was pretty sure that she had seen him, and probably heard him too, but it didn’t matter, if she knew it was him she hadn’t said anything to anyone. Perhaps she’d blocked out what he’d done to her. Or perhaps thoughts of her new admirer had pushed everything else from her mind.
Nicole Jenner didn’t do anything for him, and never had, so he hadn’t bothered with her. And he’d already had as much fun with Lorraine Rankling as was possible. Those visits with her had always been entertaining. Rawlin was so desperate to get away for a little while that he never paid attention to how edgy his wife got whenever she saw him. Rawlin was so relaxed when he returned home that he never noticed his wife’s pained eyes. He was careful to only ever hurt her in places where no one would find the tiny wounds unless they were looking. And Rawlin Rankling was too naive to think that another human being would hurt his disabled wife.
Still, thinking about Annabelle was not going to accomplish anything. Maybe when it was all finished, he would come back for her. But right now he needed her and her police officer boyfriend otherwise occupied.
He needed a diversion, and he had the perfect one in mind.
With a gleaming smile, he lit the match.
* * * * *
10:35 A.M.
“Annabelle, why don’t you date?” Xavier was watching her closely; he knew she was near her breaking point. An hour in this house—after what had happened to her and her family here—was almost more than she could bear.
“What?”
“The other day you said that you never date. Why?” He was curious to know why she didn’t date when she was so beautiful. Her features were so delicate, her eyes so exquisite, that he couldn't imagine that she hadn't had men falling at her feet her entire adult life.
Shrugging uncomfortably, she asked, “Who would want to go out with someone like me?”
He wondered what kind of childhood she’d had that had her so lacking in self-esteem. “What are you talking about?” he demanded. “You’re beautiful, your hair is gorgeous, your eyes are amazing, you’re sweet and thoughtful, you take care of your family. You’re perfect,” he finished a little breathily and took a step towards her, hoping she wouldn’t back away. She didn’t, and when he took another step closer she came to meet him, tilting her face up to meet his. When he hesitated, she took his face and pulled it down, kissing him lightly before letting go and fleeing to the other side of the room.
“I'm not perfect,” she told him seriously.
Disagreeing, Xavier thought she was amazing. She hadn’t fallen apart even though she’d lost her whole family in one foul swoop. She hadn’t fallen apart when he’d told her she’d been raped. She had agreed to come back here even though it terrified her because she didn’t want any other family to go through what she had. “Belle, did your parents ever hurt you?”
“No,” she answered quickly, a little too quickly. “Why?”
“Because someone’s given you the impression—the wrong impression—that you’re not worth anything, and I don’t like that.”
“There’s nothing remotely appealing about me. I don’t know why a guy like you would even be the least bit interested in me.”
Pleased that she was thinking about him at all, maybe she wasn't as set on her no dating philosophy as she claimed. “A guy like me?”
Her cheeks turned an endearing shade of bright pink. “You're, you know…hot, and really kind, and…” she trailed off, clearly embarrassed.
He was encouraged by the fact that she thought he was hot, and even more that she thought he was kind. “You're not the only one who feels self-conscious and has things about themselves they don’t like,” he told her. “I hate my name.”
“Xavier Montague? It’s a fine name.”
“Xavier is my middle name. My parents thought that since my father’s last name is Montague it would be cute to name me Romeo.”
Annabelle attempted to stifle a giggle. “Romeo Montague? Like from Romeo and Juliet?”
“Yep.” Seeing Annabelle’s mood lighten made him actually not hate his name for the first time since he was about nine. It had been fourth grade where one of his peers had finally gotten the connection between his name and one half of perhaps the best known fictional lovers in the world. Ever since, he had hated his name. He refused to use it, and started going by his middle name instead.
“That’s funny.” Annabelle relaxed a little.
“Then there’s my eyes,” Xavier continued, enjoying seeing Annabelle so relaxed. He wished she could be this way all the time.
“Your eyes are beautiful,” Annabelle protested.
Putting a finger to his left eye, he removed the contact lens, revealing his green eye. “I have heterochromia, one hazel eye and one green eye.” Kids had teased him since preschool about his different colored eyes. As he got older, the teasing stopped but the staring didn’t. Eventually he’d gotten so sick of all the stares and questions that he’d started wearing a hazel contact lens over his green eye.
“That’s even more beautiful,” Annabelle smiled shyly.
“Just like I think your eyes are beautiful,” he told her, closing the distance between them once more. “You're beautiful, Annabelle, whether you know it or not. You are a very special woman.”
Blushing, she stared deeply into his eyes for a long moment, then took a step backward. But it was too late. Xavier had seen the desire in her gaze, the attraction between them was mutual, even if Annabelle wouldn’t admit it.
Uncomfortable, she headed for the door. “I need to go to the bathroom.” Throwing the door open, she froze, her eyes growing wide. “Xavier, fire, the house is on fire.”
Springing to her side, he saw the hallway filled with smoke. Hurrying to the top of the stairs, he looked down, he could see red and yellow and orange flames dancing wildly.
“Oh my gosh, we’re going to die,” Annabelle’s voice was high with panic and she clung tightly to him.
“We’re not going to die,” h
e assured her. “I'm going to go down, try to see how bad it is, maybe there’s a way out. You stay here.” Gently he pried her hands from his arm and gave her a quick kiss. Ever since he was a kid, Xavier was always good in a crisis; as long as he had something concrete to do, he was fine.
He descended the stairs to assess how bad things were. The heat down here was almost overwhelming and he could barely even make it to the bottom of the steps. Downstairs, the flames consumed most of the living room and he could see no safe passage through them that would lead him and Annabelle outside.
Returning to the second floor he found Annabelle frozen in place, right where he’d left her. “We can’t get out down there,” he informed her.
“We’re going to die,” she murmured again, her eyes glassy with shock as she began to cough from the thick smoke filling the hallway.
“We are not going to die,” he repeated, grabbing her hand and pulling her back into her bedroom, closing the door behind them. “We’ll go out the window.”
“Out the window?” she squeaked, going even paler than she’d already been. “Xavier, I'm afraid of heights.”
“Fire’s too strong for us to get through it; it’s not going to be long before the floor caves in and your whole house goes up. We need to get out of here now.” He yanked open her window. “We can jump to this tree and climb down it.” Xavier had noticed the huge tree outside Annabelle’s window earlier because it reminded him of the one that had stood outside the window of his room at his dad’s house. As a child, he spent hours climbing up and down it, he’d hung a swing from it, and even worked with his dad to build a tree house in it. He was halfway out the window before he realized Annabelle hadn't joined him. “Come on, Belle.” Already smoke was filling the room.
“I can’t, I’m sorry, Xavier, I can’t, I can’t,” she was quickly becoming hysterical.
Xavier knew he didn’t have time to persuade her. “Does your dad have a ladder?”
Shaking her head, tears spilled out. “No, but Ricky does.”
“All right, you stay here, stay down low. I’ll climb out, get the ladder, and come get you, okay?”
She was quaking violently now. “Okay,” she agreed.
“Belle, I mean it; I’ll be back.” He grabbed her fiercely, ignoring her wince as he inadvertently squeezed her injured shoulder, and kissed her passionately. Then he lined himself up at the window and leapt, connecting with the branch closest to the window with a thud. Years of practice under his belt, he shimmied down the tree in no time, and was just about to hurdle the small fence between the Englewood home and Ricky Preston’s when he heard the squeal of tires. He looked up just in time to see a red car rocket off down the street. He should have run after it, tried to get a plate number, or at least a make and model, but all he could think about was Annabelle still trapped inside her burning house.
Beelining straight for the shed in the back right-hand corner of Ricky’s backyard, he barged through the locked door, grabbed the ladder and hightailed it back to the house.
“Detective Montague?” Two of the neighbors they’d interviewed a few days ago met him on the lawn.
“What’s going on?” another demanded. “Is someone still in there?”
“Annabelle,” he replied, resting the ladder against the side of the house.
“Annabelle’s still in there?” The first shot a horrified glance at the fire that was quickly consuming the house.
“Not for long.” Xavier was already scampering up the ladder, reaching the top in seconds. “Belle?” he called. The room was now filled with smoke and visibility was down around zero. He climbed back through the window. “Belle?” he yelled again, a little more frantically this time. “It’s Xavier, where are you?” He circled around the edges of the room, he was about to give up and wondered if Annabelle had fled to another room farther down the corridor to escape the smoke, when he saw her huddled in a corner. She laid still, eyes closed, and he uttered a prayer that she was okay. Dropping down beside her, his hand clenched and shook her shoulder.
She roused immediately at his touch and began to cough. “You came back,” she spluttered, attempting to smile at him.
“Of course I did,” he admonished. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Annabelle tried to stand, but she was weakened by the smoke and she struggled to make it to her feet. Wrapping an arm around her waist, Xavier dragged her up and over to the window. He breathed in mouthfuls of the fresh air before readying himself for the climb down.
“I can’t do it, Xavier,” Annabelle’s faint voice whispered, breaking into another coughing fit as she choked on the smoke.
“Yes you can, honey,” he encouraged as the most beautiful sound ever echoed in the distance. Sirens. Help was almost here.
Hoisting Annabelle over his shoulder, he managed to maneuver out the window and awkwardly down the ladder, relieved when a pair of steadying hands gripped him. Reaching solid ground, he refused to release Annabelle to her well-meaning neighbor, instead rearranging her in his arms, as someone guided him away from the burning house and across the street.
Clutching Annabelle tightly, Xavier sunk to the ground, knowing that he intended to never let her go again. The killer was still out there, and clearly he regretted leaving Annabelle alive. He was going to hunt this man down if it was the last thing he ever did, and then he was going to make sure that Annabelle knew just how special she was.
* * * * *
11:17 A.M.
“Xavier, are you okay?” Kate jumped from her car and ran over to her partner who was hovering in the middle of the street.
“I’m fine,” he assured her.
Giving him a once-over, his voice was a little croaky and he smelled like a smokehouse, but other than that, he seemed all right. “You scared me half to death,” she admonished shakily. She hadn't been able to stop shaking since Xavier had called her ten minutes ago to inform her of his and Annabelle’s near deaths.
“Kate, I’m really okay,” he patted her shoulder.
She turned her attention to the still smoldering Englewood house that the firefighters almost had under control. “You were lucky to make it out of there alive,” she murmured.
“Someone didn’t like that we came back here.” Xavier’s gaze shifted to the ambulance a few yards away. “I'm just gonna go check on Annabelle.”
Kate followed him to the back of the ambulance where Annabelle was lying on a stretcher. Her face was pale, eyes closed, and even with an oxygen mask over her mouth her breathing was still labored.
Xavier took Annabelle’s hand and stroked her hair. At his touch her eyes fluttered open to gaze up at him, and Kate could see immediately that things had changed between her partner and Annabelle.
“We’re ready to leave for the hospital,” one of the medics announced. “You coming with us, Detective?”
“No, I'm fine…”
“Xavier,” Kate began to protest, the medic looking like he was about to join her.
Cutting her off, he said, “Really, I'm fine. I wasn’t in there as long as Belle was.”
“You're not coming with me?” Annabelle’s eyes flared with panic as she pulled off the mask.
“I'm going to be there really soon,” Xavier soothed, gently extracting the oxygen mask from her hand and positioning it back over her nose and mouth. “I just need to talk to Kate first, and your neighbors, see if anyone saw anything, but the second I'm done I'm going to come straight to the hospital, okay?”
“Okay,” Annabelle’s small voice whispered, her eyes drifting tiredly closed.
“Hey,” Xavier shook her gently, waiting till she was looking at him. “You are amazing, always remember that.”
Annabelle smiled up at him and Xavier kissed her forehead tenderly before climbing down from the ambulance, watching it intently as it drove off down the street.
Kate was watching her partner just as intently. “She remember anything?”
Tearing his eyes away from the cor
ner where the ambulance had just disappeared, he answered, “Actually, yeah. She remembered someone hovering over her during the night—tall and muscled with blue eyes, but she said his face was fuzzy and she couldn’t see it properly. Same description we got from both Nicole Jenner and Lorraine Rankling. And she said he spoke to her. Apparently, he called her by name and told her he’d been waiting a long time for this.” Xavier’s jaw clenched as he repeated what the killer had said to Annabelle right before he raped her.
“So the killer definitely knows his victims,” she mused. “But that he said he’d been waiting a long time for her makes Lachlan Thompson look less plausible as our killer. If his motive was to free up his daughter, and the Englewoods and Ranklings were just collateral damage, then it wouldn’t make sense for him to be fixated on Annabelle.”
“But it doesn’t count out Dr. Daniels or Ricky Preston.” Xavier looked from the Englewood house to its neighbor.
“Did you see anything when you got here?”
“I wasn’t paying attention.” Xavier shook his head. “How useless is that?” He brushed her off before she could say anything. “Annabelle was scared of going back into her house. When I told her she’d been raped, she fainted. When she came to, she went charging off toward the house. I wasn’t looking out for anything but her.”
“So you didn’t see anyone watching you and Annabelle or the house?” she pushed, hoping he’d seen more than he remembered he had.
“I don’t remember seeing any cars or people loitering in the street. But…” he drew it out for dramatic effect, “…after we realized the house was on fire and there was no way out through the downstairs, I told Annabelle we’d have to go through the window. She was scared, said she was afraid of heights, so I left her in there and climbed down the tree. I was going to get the ladder from Ricky Preston’s shed when I heard tires squeal.” He turned, gesturing to the black marks on the road. “It was rocketing off down the street, and I didn’t even bother to go after it. Annabelle was still in there.”
